Sweetest Are The Stolen Kisses
by Lemmings
Summary: Yin and Yang, black and white -- Complete opposites, bound by a prophecy that forces them together... Question is, will they fight the binding and watch the world suffer, or does love truly conquer all? Hr./D
1. Prologue

**Sweetest Are The Stolen Kisses**  
written by liquid mercury, Marionette and Elluxion

**Liquid Mercury:** We're heeeree!! Yes! Three crazy, eccentric, totally whacked-out authors bad enough when left to their own devices, drawn together by one plight! A mutual goal! A worthy cause—to get Hermione and Draco to snog! And as one, we are bigger and better, than ever before! *Muahahahaha* But yeah. The prophecy (all in verse!) was written by the ever-lovely Elluxion, and edited by the ever-lovely Mari and the not-so-lovely me. I'm proud of myself. Aren't you? Review if you are. *shoebapdeedoo* 

**Mari:** Yes, yes... Tis still G/liquid mercury/whatever you choose to address me by. Since Mari, everyone's favorite fluffiness-opposed Mari, is too busy, let's hope she's still too busy bludgeon me to death while screaming obscenities at me for doing it wrong. Basically, she says brownie (or bonus) points and a cup of coffee to anyone who knows who Jets to Brazil is, anyone who doesn't want to be bludgeoned to death or have obscenities screamed at them should review... And my, my... isn't Aria's (and our) prologue enthralling? 

**Elluxion:** *pokes her head in and directs to G* The format is screwed no longer. ;) *waves at readers* _Later update_ – damn, I screwed it up even more. X_X Uploading it again. 

**NOTE:** The format is screwed, but I/we can't do anything about it. So there. 

* * *

_Beware, reader, of what you would seek,  
By flipping the pages and looking at me.  
Thou have found an ancient tome of the old,  
Memories shall haunt you, never to flee._

_A prophecy, this is, set to times of frost,  
Of the numbers twenty, and three.  
Puzzling questions, rendering one lost,  
Baffling creatures; confusing mysteries. _

_Gryffindor and Slytherin, diverse are they,  
Leaders in both, so clearly plain,  
But should the two lead alone,  
It would evidently be in vain._

_One with the colors of autumn,  
Dark, golden, fiery flames,  
The other, the essence of winter,  
Calm pools of stormy grays._

_The sunlight is one's domain,  
Bright, cheerful, sunny, pure.  
The other prefers adversaries slain,  
In the misty shadows' lure._

_One's personality opens like a flower.  
Dancing, speaking, a ready smile.  
The other silent, yet will not cower,  
His wrath one should not rile._

_This book shall help thou guide the way,  
As a candlelight, a shining star.  
Help shall arrive, a gleaming ray,  
But only when the battle is not far._

_Separate ends of the spectrum,  
these valiant two shall be.  
But in order to survive --   
They have to work with thee..._

The bewildered reader ran a finger down the page, yellowed with the passing of the tides. Only one question rang true in Hermione Granger's mind -- _What on earth did that mean?_

* * *

_Dun na na na! Tune in next week (or month... or year...) to find out exactly what on Earth that **did** mean!_


	2. Chapter 1

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**Liquid Mercury:** Look who updated! No, really, make a wild guess. YESS!!! _WE_ updated! And it occurred to me that we didn't have a disclaimer, and ours' is in verse too, like the wonderful prologue. They come as a pair and you can get them at your local supermarket for the convenient price of $5.99, right down the aisle with the self-reproducing rotten tomatoes (see someone whose hair would look much better in a lovely shade of rotting red? Don't fret! Grab a can of Self-replicating Tomatoes, it's self-opening and self-throwing too, but do be cautious, dear boys and girls, because tomatoes tend to have a mind of their own.). 

**Elluxion:** And look who's typing! *glances about happily* Yes, I'm back in business, my computer suffered nastily, but the weekend is beckoning, it's Friday night… and I AM IN A WRITING MOOD, so watch out, world! (Did that make sense? *blinks* All right…) 

**Disclaimer:** And J.K. Rowling did say,  
To me, one day,  
"Harry Potter is thine."  
And I did reply "Sweet."  
As she replied, "Dude."  
As sure as I claim Harry Potter mine.  


**Acknowledgements:** Of course, to us, them esteemed authors, *mock bow*. Well, actually, no. To the reviewers-all of whom gave this story a chance, so let us be grateful and name them all. **Tracy, nycgirl, BLoOiSHPiNk, Saturn-hime, Ravyn Nyte and Kerbi** (Yeah, we'll email you… if we actually remember, which we will try to. Liquid mercury/G (me) has a very bad memory, so yesh.). 

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** Since I'll be emailing one of the aforementioned reviewers when we update, does anyone want me to email them as well? If so, tell me in a review or drop me an email at 'ateyourhamster@hotmail.com'. 

* * *

**Sweetest are the Stolen Kisses (con't)  
Chapter 1**

It could be said that Draconis Nicholas Malfoy had changed drastically since his years in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yet it could also stand true that he had not changed at all. 

He still boasted platinum blonde locks, neatly placed upon his head. He still had steely gray orbs, and a frosty, unwavering gaze that seemed to penetrate even the boldest of souls. His features still chiseled from pure ice-beautiful, cold, all lines and sharp angles. The high, prominent cheekbones and the tilted chin, the elegant bone structure still stood with defiance. And perhaps the least or most disdainful, proud, willful trait was the soft, rose-petal lips that kept that memorable, distinctive face from seeming too stark. He also still walked with the same confident, relaxed and slightly mocking demeanor that screamed superiority, and paired up that sardonic smile. He still wore all black, as more of a lifestyle choice rather than a fashion statement, emphasizing again, the slightly nefarious air about him. 

And yet it was the unseen changes that caused people to think that perhaps he was no longer that person. His skin my have been flawless, but his insides were deeply cut away from the five years since he'd been a teenager. Healed in flesh, but not in memory, he was an almost hollowed-out figure of everything feared about him at one point. He grew more jaded, more cynical, more torn, barely able to keep hold of the leashed anguish that bubbled just beneath the surface. In some places, he grew wise; he matured. And yet in others, he became more lost and confused. Sometimes he had difficulty separating the two apart. 

After graduating, he'd flitted about the Ministry for a while, a lithe ghost that everyone came to respect. He'd gone to and from different departments, but failed to find something that really suited him, or satisfied him. For a few years he remained inactive from society, not attending parties or looking for different jobs, just living in a small flat located in central London. 

However, life as an insignificant figure didn't suit him; anonymity was not his style. Draco had always loved attention, it having been bred into him by his bastard father, during his pursuit to mould the perfect Malfoy heir. Soon after, he was, once again, the center of the London social scene, and an influential speaker against the Dark Arts, much to his parents' chagrin and mortification. 

The latter of his accomplishments caused many eyebrows to disappear into their hairline, as surprised and slightly suspicious expressions drifted across their faces. He was, after all, bred and born a Malfoy and they'd been known to dabble in the Dark Arts for generations. Some were doubtful of his true intentions, but most accepted him into their good graces almost immediately. 

And then the war came. 

Everyone knew it would happen, but they still seemed surprised when it actually did. It came like a torrent wave upon a stranded boat; swift, relentless, powerful and unforgiving. Voldemort came out of hiding, wand raised and followers poised to attack, to begin what would be known as "the final battle". The exact details were largely scattered through the few survivors on either side. The Death Eaters they did find that were still alive claimed the victory in the name of their Lord, unknowing that he had died. But the truth was the right side had won, and all seemed well. 

Draco had received quite a few honors for his duties during the war. He'd trained as an Auror, and had saved the lives of many. Occasionally, he still did special trips, to check into a case on the few remaining Death Eaters. But only occasionally. He had apprehended many, and most had taken the well-trodden path leading into the gaping mouth of the darkened shadows of depravity. 

He'd been raised to feel as little emotion as possible, and for the most part, he was fine with that. He had no qualms with feeling nothing; it didn't leave him disappointed or regretful as some people were. In fact, he thought it better that way. Not that he was completely emotionless - he was still human, after all. Yet after his brief fame as a war hero of sorts, he tired of the limelight for the first time in his life. A war hero devoid of personal glory or even the slightest interest in his performed courageous acts. He'd put it away, tossed it aside without the least twinge of regret. He rarely spoke of the battles he fought and the victories he won. 

Draco had always been ironic. 

He'd returned to his life of quiet seclusion to figure things out. 

Like what he was to do now. 

Now that war was over, he had no goals, no ambitions. He'd survived. That'd been his only real aim. He was twenty-three, handsome, smart, considered a brilliant hero and had absolutely no idea what to do with his life. 

The only reason he'd become Governor of Hogwarts was because he had nothing else to do. To be perfectly honest, he hadn't been a big fan of the school when he'd it attended himself. But his father had once told him that to go back to his roots when he had gone astray. Not that the advice had done his father any good; the man was dead now. He had died defending his master - another senseless loss of life that could have been prevented if Lucius had allowed his logical wits to take in the changing environment around him; if he hadn't allowed his devotion to the Dark Lord blind him completely. 

Yet he'd Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked to Hogwarts so that he could fill out an application. He'd made an appointment with Albus Dumbledore (really, he thought, the man must have been two hundred years old! How did he do it?) to interview for the job. He was even slightly nervous, truth be told. Going one on one with his former Headmaster could not be considered one of his favorite pastimes. The fact was that the ancient man intimidated him like no one else. The old kook had a way of looking at you like he could see your soul; a scary experience for someone like Draco Malfoy, who, at times, wasn't even sure he had one. As he entered the stone castle, a flood of memories rushed back to him. He passed a bustling first-year, who looked confusedly around in an attempt to find the dungeons for Potions class. It'd made him laugh, almost, and he pointed the lad in the right direction before heading for the Headmaster's office. 

He approached the entrance, and spoke the password he'd been told (Ton Tongue Toffees; a Weasley Wizard Wheezes original product) and climbed the staircase to the room. He strode in somewhat nervously, surprised to find it empty. He glanced right and left quickly, spotting a bird (a phoenix, he realized) and some other random objects that held his attention for a few moments. The portraits - well, the ones that woke up - proffered quick glances and smiles; it vaguely occurred to him that they probably didn't even know about the war. Then, losing interest, he sat down in a chair and waited for the aging Headmaster. 'Just like him to be late,' he mused inwardly, feeling somewhat annoyed, as he sighed and leaned back into the chair. 

Suddenly, the door burst open, and in walked the very man. He was still quite a sight to behold- a little more weathered, perhaps, but still someone who commanded respect. Draco straightened in his chair, a natural reflex whenever he was in the Headmaster's presence. Dumbledore smiled kindly, before taking a seat behind his desk. He folded his hands before him, and gave an apologizing nod. "Excuse my tardiness," he spoke politely, then paused. "Ah, young Malfoy. How long has it been?" 

Sinking back into the comfortable seat, feeling a bit more at ease, Draco replied, "Three years, sir." 

Dumbledore shook his head, waving a hand in the air before him for emphasis. "Much too long! And please, don't call me 'sir'. It makes me feel old, and I try to avoid that as much as possible." He winked, a familiar twinkle residing in his eyes, and Draco felt himself smile without thinking. Then it seemed to dawn on the old man what they were there for. Glancing down at the application before him, he nodded seriously, "I see you have applied to be a Governor. Following in your father's footsteps, eh?" 

"Hopefully not." Draco responded. 

Dumbledore chuckled, a shred of bitterness slightly evident. "Let's not dwell on matters past, shall we? Now, regarding your position… I'm inclined to accept you for the position, regarding your past experience and your strengths. Yes, you'll do." 

"Thank you, Headmaster," Draco said calmly, not betraying the relief brimming in him. "I'll try to make the most of my position." A heartbeat's silence, then he allowed a little smile to glimmer on his face, and his tone was honest. "At the risk of sounding clichéd, I won't let you down." 

Dumbledore leaned back with a friendly smile. "Welcome, Draco. Perhaps it might be time to introduce you to a school staff member who will bring you around Hogwarts so you can orient yourself again." 

---

"Professor!" 

Michael Weasley dashed through the crowded hallways, ducking and weaving with ease. Blessed with a tall, lanky frame and a shock of handsome auburn hair, it was easy to make out the first-year's progress. Brow creased in concentration, Michael ducked past a couple of shamelessly snogging fifth-years and called again. 

"Professor!" 

An elfin figure in front of him, clad in navy robes similar to the Hogwarts uniform, started and turned in surprise but recognition at the voice. Chocolate masses of hair tumbled down her back waywardly, having lost much of its frizz, but still retained its rueful untidiness. Cinnamon eyes were softly framed with long lashes a shade or two darker, sparkling with the same thoughtful expression that had graced them even during her days as a student. Her skin glowed healthily beneath a flawless complexion, tanned a light brown even under the winter sky. She walked with an erect posture and a head held high, intelligence etched on the childish face. Still somewhat gravitationally-challenged, Hermione Granger had been mistaken for a fifth- or sixth-year more than once, the illusion enhanced by the enchanting twinkle of innocence she somehow still held. 

"What's the matter?" She tilted her head to one side, her brow dipping slightly. 

"Professor Dumbledore wants you." 

"Did he say why?" Hermione queried, falling into step with the Gryffindor that nearly matched her own height, though he was eleven. _Height_, she thought wryly, looking into the amiable blue eyes of her student and friend, _will always be a Weasley trait._

"Nope. Only that he wants you quite urgently." 

"Thank you, Michael. Please report into Gryffindor Common Room. Darting about like that is not suitable behavior for a Hogwarts student." 

Michael tried to conceal a laugh at Hermione's attempt to sound formal and authoritative. He knew Hermione on a personal level, on first-name basis - her visits to the Weasley home were frequent and long. 

"Of course, Professor Granger," he quipped, with a malicious, impish glint in his eyes but with a deadpan look on his face. Hermione restrained herself from playfully smacking him over the head with a book as she lingered in front of the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Ton Tongue Toffees," she muttered under her breath, and the gargoyle emitted a lengthy death wail as it swung past to allow her entrance. 

Hermione stepped lightly up the spiral staircase, marveling at the intricate carvings along the banisters as she did so. Her hand was resting on the handle to open Dumbledore's office door when the low murmur of voices penetrated her hearing. 

Fearing that just barreling in would be considered rude; Hermione leant against the wall and waited. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted towards her, and she began to focus in on the conversation. It was evident that they were speaking about her. 

"… a student, you know, like you - was a brilliant one, as well…" 

"… help in the war? … perhaps I know her…" 

"… trained as an Auror… preferred teaching, though…" 

"… interesting…" 

"… duties are to be…" 

As she waited, Hermione glanced restlessly about the antechamber, her eyes flitting gaily like the proverbial social butterfly. Her gaze settled on the book she carried, and with one finger, she tenderly traced the cover of the book. 

It was an odd symbol - a pentagon set again a wall of quivering flames. The symbol seemed to be _carved_ into the thick hardcover; she could feel the ruts even as she admired the steady hand that had done so. The book itself was old; once an azure splendor, the cerulean sheen of the book had been dimmed by time and was now a shade of aging beryl. 

Hermione frowned in frustration. The symbol - it _changed_. Just a small adjustment, here and there, but sufficient so that she noticed, every morning, with a jolt of shock. Perhaps a corner was rounded or an angle was sharpened, but the pentagon sometimes didn't even remotely resemble a pentagon at all. It was an enigma, a mystery, one that no matter how hard she worked at, she couldn't untangle. 

She had found the book last week, nestled away at the library, a thick volume with a curling golden decoration on its spine, like a kind of fidgety vine that couldn't decide which direction to go. It had intrigued her, and she had pulled it out of the shelf and flipped it open. 

She could still remember her astonishment at the age of the book - it could have been there at the time of Godric Gryffindor. Then she had been amazed at the strange prophecy - a rhyme that told nothing and yet everything at once. 

There must have been at least fifty thick, yellowed parchment pages in that book, but the other pages yielded nothing save the prophecy. Hermione puzzled over the book for over five days now and she was not even a step closer to the answer. The prophecy intrigued her to no end, brought back memories of her last days at Hogwarts, of three years which had dragged on and soared past at the same time. 

The prophecy itself had a queer ring to it, like she had heard it before, or read the words penned in faded, crackled ink and it had imprinted itself indelibly into her soul. Standing outside her Headmaster's office, alone, Hermione opened the book slowly, fearing that it would disintegrate, and read the verses once more. 

_Beware, reader, of what you would seek,  
By flipping the pages and looking at me.  
Thou have found an ancient tome of the old,  
Memories shall haunt you, never to flee. _

A prophecy, this is, set to times of frost,  
Of the numbers twenty, and three.  
Puzzling questions, rendering one lost,  
Baffling creatures; confusing mysteries. 

Gryffindor and Slytherin, diverse are they,  
Leaders in both, so clearly plain,  
But should the two lead alone,  
It would evidently be in vain. 

One with the colors of autumn,  
Dark, golden, fiery flames,  
The other, the essence of winter,  
Calm pools of stormy grays. 

The sunlight is one's domain,  
Bright, cheerful, sunny, pure.  
The other prefers adversaries slain,  
In the misty shadows' lure. 

One's personality opens like a flower.  
Dancing, speaking, a ready smile.  
The other silent, yet will not cower,  
His wrath one should not rile. 

This book shall help thou guide the way,  
As a candlelight, a shining star.  
Help shall arrive, a gleaming ray,  
But only when the battle is not far. 

Separate ends of the spectrum,  
these valiant two shall be.  
But in order to survive --   
They have to work with thee... 

Hermione Serafina Granger had never been one to back down from a challenge, but even she would admit that she was at her wits' end. She had questioned everyone she knew, had pored through every book in the library, and had even flicked through pages of Muggle storybooks. 

The answer, however, still stubbornly eluded her. 

The rustle of robes alerted Hermione that they were approaching the doorway. She adjusted her robes and tugged without much avail at her hair, attempting to make herself look a tad more presentable. Clearly, the person was filling the empty position of Governor. 

The door swung open and Hermione beamed automatically as the tall, spindly headmaster stepped out of his office. Dumbledore stepped aside to reveal a gray-eyed, fair-haired young man that looked as if he were a few years older than she was. Looked, but was not quite. 

The striking presence he carried off calmly and the sable robes that he wore settled it. Hermione offered a dry grin. "Governor Malfoy. Welcome to Hogwarts." 

---

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**G [aka Liquid Mercury]:** Dun na na! A sort-of cliffhanger-ish type ending. Now for a brownie point thing. For fun. This question is on our bio section, but if anyone can tell me where the quote below came from, you get candy! Clues? It's from Shakespeare. 

_'Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing lady, not for such contempt.'_

Taa! G ish going to sleep now, lest I fall asleep in church. 

**Aria/Elluxion**: **Later Note [31st December] -- **'Kay guys, I just edited the format so that the prophecy doesn't appear all wonky. I also discovered a note to my fellow authors that wasn't meant to be published -- the one referring to the prophecy. *growls* Bwah. ^^; I shall go and kick myself now, and maybe work on the other installments as well. *waves* 

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	3. Chapter 2

* * *

**A/N:** Apologies for the late chapter. Ack. All of us were pretty much piled with homework -- my (G) excuse was exams, which I have one more, Science, then another week of dreaded school and a three-week holiday! -- So, yeah. It's 11 pages long, so it should satisfy our faithful reviewers, hmm? Anyway, sorry again for the delay, and that I couldn't reply to the reviews. 

* * *

**Sweetest Are The Stolen Kisses  
Chapter Two**

"But - but I swear - " Stella Black rooted frantically about in her bag, seeking a vital roll of parchment that proceeded to evade her. The brains of Ravenclaw tossed a desperate look at her friend Angelica-Jessica Snape. "Your father is going to tear me from limb to limb!" 

"Stella," Angelica-Jessica said reasonably, rolling out the A's. "Don't worry about it. The Potions essay is due tomorrow. Tomorrow, all right? You can re-do the essay easily." She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. 

"It's not like that!" Stella pouted in annoyance, sending a death glare wafting towards Angelica-Jessica. Tearfully, she pronounced, "A.J., the damned thing is supposed to be three bloody yards long, I can't conjure three yards of work up, even if I pulled an all-nighter!" 

Angelica-Jessica gave Stella a logical smile, if anything like that was possible. The girls resembled each other very much - both possessed ink-black, bottomless eyes fringed with a pale complexion. Angelica-Jessica had lank black hair; Stella had hers cropped slightly shorter. 

"I remember now…" Stella said slowly, horror creeping into her sable eyes as she did so. "I left it on the Quidditch pitch… after the Ravenclaw game against Hufflepuff…" 

Angelica-Jessica inclined her head towards the window with a wince. "Bad luck, Stell…" 

A roll of thunder underscored her words as the rain battered on. Lightning illuminated the quickly darkening abyss that was the sky, as Stella groaned. 

---

"I trust you two can get along?" a bemused Professor Dumbledore looked at the two young people in front of him wryly. They'd both grown up in the years since they'd attended Hogwarts as students themselves, in more ways than one. Hermione had become a poised, graceful young adult, far surpassing the mousy bookworm she'd been in her younger years. When she'd applied for the job as a teacher a year earlier, he'd barely recognized the confident young woman as one of his own students, whom he'd known for years. 

Draco Malfoy's change, however, had little to do with his outward appearance. He'd always been popular with the ladies, and possessed great self-assurance. Yet he'd matured emotionally over the years; that much was obvious. It was plainly visible in the way he acted, the way he carried himself. He was no longer arrogant, but possessed a subtle self-belief, and was more tolerant of other people. Though, Dumbledore supposed, one could never be too careful. There were a few years older yes, but old quarrels, especially those between Slytherins and Gryffindors, died hard. 

Brushing a russet lock away from her face, a warm smile painted its way across Hermione's features. "We're not teenagers anymore, Headmaster." Her gaze at the old man was tender, "I'm sure we can bury the petty differences we've had in the past." 

He nodded in confirmation, every silver-blonde strand of hair staying perfectly in place. "Of course," he added, unsure of what else there was to say. 

Dumbledore smiled lightly. My, how fast they'd grown. The war had done that to all of them, he thought grimly, but pushed it away and shooed the pair out the door. "Excellent. Miss Granger, please escort Mr. Malfoy around the premises and enlighten him about the changes we have made." He gave Draco a nod, "It's really just some minor details, and it should only talk a half hour, at the most." 

The two nodded and walked out of the office, proceeding down the staircase and into the hallway. 

---

"I can still get it," Stella said, dragging the syllables, as if the idea just dawned on her. "I can rush down to the Quidditch pitch, and grab it before it crumbles in the rain. I'll put a charm on it to make it dry… It might work, I think - " 

"And I think it's a bad idea, Stell." Angelica-Jessica warned. "What if you get caught?" 

" - I won't get caught! It's a perfect idea! I'm doing it," Stella confirmed. Grabbing her cloak from her bed, she started to root around for her wand. 

"Stella, what if you get struck by lightning, or worse? The Forbidden Forest is right there, some dark creatures might get you, or something…" Angelica-Jessica shifted about uncomfortably as she reasoned with her friend. "I'm serious, Stella." 

"I'll use my wand." She answered as she lifted the aforementioned object triumphantly. "Now just stay right here, and if anyone asks, I've gone down to the Kitchens for a snack." 

Then with a mischievous wink and a wave at the very idea of shattering twenty different school rules, Stella called, "Be back in a minute!" and disappeared out the door. 

"Back in a minute, huh?" 

---

"- new dress code, trivial matter, really. All robes must close under the knees. Some girls were beginning to get a bit risky with what they were wearing," she cleared her throat a bit awkwardly, "if you know what I mean." 

He nodded stiffly; conversation with Hermione was not exactly neither pleasant nor unpleasant. At times, it was more than a tad forced; they hadn't spoken in years, and the last time they had talked had been in insults. All in all, they just had very little to say to each other. 

"Of course, there are the rules that we had before; I trust you remember them?" Not pausing for an answer, she continued, "No magic between classes, in the dormitories by ten, stuff of that nature. None of that will come up in the Governor's meetings, I'm sure, but just in case you should probably consult your handbook." Her tirade stopped abruptly, when she noticed he was no longer walking. She turned impatiently, "Malfoy?" 

"Which one does he belong to?" He asked plainly, nodding in a direction. A few students were gathered about a door, looking at a piece of paper eagerly. _Quidditch teams_, she reasoned to herself. Giving him a perplexed look, she shrugged. 

"What do you mean?" 

He sighed, a signal of his impatience. "The Weasley. You can't tell me you can't see his hair from way over here." 

She was used to the flaming red Weasley hair; it was quite often that she was surrounded by it. Her frequent visits to the Weasley home was chaotic, but loads of fun. It was the one place in the universe where she could overlook disorder. "That's Michael. His father's Bill, Ron's brother, but he's much older than us." A beat, "I don't believe you ever met him." 

Shaking his head carelessly, he turned and began walking down the hallway, "No, I don't think I did." 

But Draco's thoughts were proclaiming loudly otherwise. 

---

It was strange, this rain. 

It was winter, to begin with, and snowstorms were expected, hardly a barrage of rain and wind. However, these were the things furthest from Stella Black's mind as she paused before darting out of the main doors of Hogwarts. The sable hair cupping her chin was a distinctive feature to most of Hogwarts, mirroring the ink darkness her father possessed. Drawing her cloak over her head to hide not only her hair but also the alabaster tint of her skin, Stella gripped her wand even tighter and melted into the rain, leaving the door a shade ajar. 

Wincing as she squished unceremoniously through the rain-worn snow, Stella loped easily parallel to the Forbidden Forest, her stride long and steady, built for long-distance running, yet another distinctive trait of her father's. Her eyes were focused on the six hoops teetering treacherously in the bemoaning wind that marked the Quidditch pitch. 

If she had taken a quick glance at the equally swaying trees next to her, laden by water-soaked snow, she might have noted the winged form winding through the shrubbery, dark eyes trained unwaveringly on her. 

As it was, Stella was occupied enough. Staying close to one of the raised seats in hopes that it might shield some of the driving rain, she could barely make out a torn and tattered piece of parchment fluttering sadly at one corner of the pitch. It was just a few minutes shy from disintegrating altogether. 

Murmuring a violent swear word that lost itself in the storm, Stella abandoned the seats and the shelter they offered, making her way through the Quidditch pitch towards the Potions essay. Another curse, followed by a fevered, "Stupid bad luck really getting on my nerves, must have been blown out of my bag by the rotten wind…" 

When it leapt on her and bore her roughly to the ground, Stella lost her tight-fingered hold on her wand. A scream ripped its way from her throat and spiraled weakly into the sky. 

---

Minerva McGonagall was growing old. 

Oh, it didn't show in her personality or attitude, not remotely. Professor McGonagall was as stern and feared as ever, commanding an amount of respect unbeaten by the other teachers, gained by wisdom and understanding as profound as the years she had dedicated to Hogwarts. It didn't manifest too greatly in her appearance, either, save for a few gray hairs tucked into the bun (drawn as tight as ever) and a handful of wrinkles deepening on her face. 

But Minerva could feel herself ageing with every year gone past. She shoved a stack of parchments away from her, setting it neatly at one side of the table - honestly, those third-years were turning in disgraceful work, she had to speak to them soon - and wandered to the window, leaning against the cool glass, welcoming the refreshing sensation. 

She drew her cloak tighter to herself in an attempt to lock out the chill invading her bones. She was feeling the cold much more acutely than usual lately, Minerva thought ruefully, but somewhat absentmindedly. Her thoughts had changed direction, now hovering over the matter of the sight she had been greeted with just before she entered her chamber. 

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, heads bent together as they scrutinized the halls, Hermione with a smile flickering slightly at her lips as she separated the fighting Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco looking on with cool appraisal. With a wave of his wand he repaired the damage done to the hallway as Hermione charmed the two so that they looked somewhat normal again, sending them off with a detention each and taking points off from both Houses. It was a sight that amused her to no end - recalling the last time she had to do the exact same thing to the both of them - but it had struck a chord with Minerva. She could hazard a guess at why Draco was there - Albus had said something about him applying for a position as Governor of Hogwarts. 

She held no suspicion for the young man; it had long been replaced, since he stepped out of his father's shadow, with reluctant respect and admiration, but the scene of loyal ex-members of the two different Houses working awkwardly with each other… surprised her, somewhat. It was strange, new, a bonding that was to be expected after the war, but one that she hadn't anticipated anyway. It brought to mind a new beginning, and usually with new beginnings came trouble. 

Minerva shook her head free of those ominous thoughts. If the chasm between Muggleborn and old wizardly families could be bridged, well, all the better, then. 

So why was she so full of foreboding? 

Minerva wryly blamed it on her age. 

Her eyes narrowed as they finally noted the sky emptying itself in buckets like there was no tomorrow. Rain in winter was an uncommon occurrence, but not unheard of. Lightning flashed, jeering at her and illuminating two forms struggling on the Quidditch pitch, and blazed again, defining one with a terrified face clothed in Hogwarts robes. 

Long before the unmistakable shriek for help trailed off, Minerva was already halfway through her door. 

---

"Professor?" 

Draco blinked in surprise as Minerva McGonagall exploded out of her chamber and caught up to them, robes flying as she swept through the hallway. She grabbed Hermione's arm and nearly dragged the girl along as she made for the main doors, moving much faster than Draco thought she was capable of. 

Thanking the stars that he was too tall to be subject to the indignity the astonished Hermione had no choice but to succumb to, Draco chased after them, an amused smile at Hermione's disgruntled, indignant expression snuffed out by the shock and fury radiating from Professor McGonagall's face. 

"Professor?" 

His questioning tone was quickly subdued by Professor McGonagall's furious tirade. "I don't believe this! Stella Black -out of castle at nine- now attacked by some creature, no doubt from the Forest-!" 

Hermione seemed to make some sense out of her outraged sputtering, and as realization dawned on her face, it was quickly overtaken by determination. "Stella Black?" She shook off McGonagall's grip, but kept up easily as they ran out the doors towards the Quidditch pitch. "This will be her seventeenth detention after the Christmas break, I don't believe that girl!" 

"But you said she was being attacked, Professor?" Draco pressed unerringly, refusing to deviate from the matter at hand. 

"I couldn't see what it was, Mr. Malfoy, but you two will have to help me," McGonagall replied grimly, wand already out of her robes, the three of them leaving tracks behind in the snow that was rapidly washed out by the rain. 

Hermione clutched the book that contained the prophecy close to her, guarding it against the storm, and was startled to realize that warmth and an icy aura were emanating from the cover, spreading a frosty glow across her face. Too preoccupied to puzzle out the book at the moment, she stuffed it into her robes, resolved anew to solve the mystery of the prophecy soon. 

They spread out instinctively to corner the creature, still moving swiftly, fuelled by concern for Stella who was fighting tooth and nail for freedom. A scream pierced the air, causing the trio to move quicker still, yet in the dark and brutal storm it was intensely difficult to pinpoint the girl's location. 

Squinting in an effort to achieve better vision, Hermione swiveled her head from left to right. Sensing a motion to her right, she called out loudly, "Minerva! Malfoy!" There was no answer; her voice was lost in the storm. 

Deciding that the young girl's safety was at stake, she moved forward without thinking of the consequences. She clutched her robes tightly together with one hand, wand pointed straight out with the other. The old tome bumped against her ribs reassuringly as she walked unsteadily toward the sound of the yell. "Stella? Stella, answer me!" 

Receiving no reply, Hermione felt herself growing more and more distressed. Calling Stella's name, she realized she was headed in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. The student in question was a troublemaker, that much was true; she followed in the footsteps of her father very well, but she knew better than to wander in the Forest alone. Debating whether venturing into the forest without someone behind her was a good decision, she paused; however, her senses kicked in. A student was out, trapped in the hellish rainstorm, and needed help. She much preferred that her own safety be compromised. 

Running, her soaked robes clinging to her legs and the material of her skirt, she thrust herself into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Once again, she called for her student, to receive no reply except for what sounded like a whinny in the wind. Perplexed, Hermione brought a hand to her head. She could remember nothing about having regular horses in the Forest. Unicorns, of course, but that had not sounded like a Unicorn. 

Fueled by the concern for her pupil, she adjusted herself in the direction of the neigh, and began to run in that direction. She had made it all of ten feet when the wind picked up a surprising amount around her. It was almost as if it was holding her back! But that was silly, really. It was simply windy, another effect of the storm. Pushing herself against the wind, which she found to be no easy task, Hermione headed toward where she thought the sound of the whinny had come from. 

Suddenly, another cry broke the air, this one very much human. Eyes widening, Hermione did her best to pick up the pace against the heavy winds. Step after step, one at a time. Her progress was slow, and it seemed the rain beat down the hardest around herself. She knew that that was a fantasy; there was no possible way that the rain could be concentrated on her, yet still she wondered. Was it possible to enchant the weather? Shaking her head, she returned to the problem at hand-her missing student. 

"Stella!" It seemed almost futile to call the child's name anymore, but the effort paid off, as a faint but distinct "Professor Granger!" traveled to her on the wind. Finding a new reason to fight the gusts that surrounded her, Hermione moved toward the sound with a new determination that no amount of wind or rain could stop her. Again, she called the girl's name, then again, and again. 

Finally, twenty feet away she could make out two figures. One was small, weakening, and on the ground, cowering in fright. The other was massive; definitely a horse that was at least twenty hands high. Launching herself forward with a speed she had not known she possessed, Hermione gripped her wand as tightly as she could in her numb fingers. Magic pulsed at her fingertips and warmed them slightly. Raising her wand, she cried _"STUPEFY!"_

A blue light shot out of the front of her wand with so much force it stopped her in her tracks. She watched it as if in slow motion; it ran through the air and hit the great horse square in its side. Yet the only sign the horse had even felt the apparently strong blast was a turn on its head in Hermione's direction. It reared, a sign she did not consider good. 

Desperate to think of a spell -- any spell -- which may lead to the monster horse's downfall, Hermione stood still for a moment. Her mind raced over her years at Hogwarts. There were so many spells she could use, but if a strong Stupefy didn't faze the creature, why would any of them? Her attention yet again moved to the small form, Stella. The girl was taking advantage of the horse's averted gaze and was now slowly standing and moving away. Unfortunately, the horse was not so easily fooled. It's head whipped back in her direction and it whinnied fiercely. 

Wasting no time at all, Hermione darted to Stella's side and stood defensively in front of the girl. Inside her mind she was still searching her memory for a powerful spell that might stop the strange horse creature. It turned its head so it could examine her carefully, and she noticed something odd about it. Its eyes were practically dead. Almost soulless. 

Like Dementors. 

She had no idea what made her make the connection, but in no time she was thinking of the day she'd received her Hogwarts letter and how her mother and father had taken her out to a fancy French restaurant to celebrate the occasion. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ she screamed as forcefully as possible, her eyes shut in her hard concentration on the happy memory. 

When she opened them there was no demon horse, and the skies were clearing. 

Turning, she saw Stella Black, eyes wide with shock, leaning against a tree and shaking with fright. Clutching the girl to her, Hermione removed both her own and Stella's soaked robes. A sob escaped her lips, but she held back the rest for her students' sake. 

"Stella…Stella, are you alright?" she asked, searching Stella for any cuts or bruises. There were quite a few, but nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix. She decided it was more shock than anything. 

"What was it?" Stella questioned, looking at Hermione as if she weren't really seeing her. Her eyes were stunned and swimming in confusion. 

"A horse, obviously." Her tone was chiding, but she couldn't help her. While her relief that Stella was safe was overwhelming, she was in disbelief that the student had gone out alone, after dark, in the middle of a rainstorm! 

"Oh," She nodded blankly, "I couldn't tell." 

Hermione took a step back and examined the girl further. Her concern grew a bit more. "Don't you know what a horse looks like?" The question sounded completely silly, but Hermione was perplexed. 

"Yes, of course," she replied, "But I didn't see anything there." 

* * *


	4. Chapter 3

* * *

**Mari's A/N:** Look! It's here! And it didn't take four months! *dances* 

**G and Aria's A/N:** Woot for stuff! Well, okay. . .this is still Mari. G and Aria didn't write A/Ns. Sadness. Oh well. Just read the fic. And review. Hm. . .that would probably be easier to accomplish if I shut up. . . 

* * *

**Sweetest Are The Stolen Kisses  
Chapter Three**

_A few years earlier _

Sirius stared blandly at the sorry excuse of a meal the Dementor shoved at him through the bars. Today's gruel was a select choice of the slop he'd been served for the past decade, it appeared. He grimaced and pushed the bowl lightly away. He wasn't very hungry to begin with, and the food only made his stay in Azkaban a little more unbearable. 

That's what he'd called it for the past ten years, his "stay". 

When he'd been incarcerated, he hadn't exactly been sure of what happened. His world had been turned completely upside down; Lily and James were dead, Harry was famous, and Peter had accused him of their deaths. The information was overloading, and he hadn't had time to grasp the depth of what his supposed friend had said to him. And as soon as he had been arrested for the deaths of those on the street, he had known two things for sure: Peter had betrayed him and Lily and James, and he was innocent. 

He'd entered Azkaban with the hopeful thought that someone, anyone, would find out the truth. They would listen to him and look around for a rat with perhaps a toe missing. Yet if Dementors could hear, they plainly didn't care, and it seemed as though the Wizarding world didn't mind who it was serving the time as long as they had someone to blame. From the beginning, he'd had low hopes of ever seeing daylight again, and those hopes were squashed as soon as they were felt because of the Dementors looming nearby. 

In a small defiance, and as a way to boost his morale, he continually referred to his jail time as his "stay". It was a lifetime sentence, and a bit more than a visit, but he had wished against wished, hoped against hoped, that someone would discover the truth. 

It didn't seem likely after awhile. 

Still, he didn't consider himself completely useless. He could still transform into his Animagus form; something he did often to stay in good shape on smooth transfigurations from human to dog and vice versa. It had always been sort of a backup plan to someone finding him innocent to escape himself. To just become a dog and run away... 

Yet he'd been a bit more cautious since he'd gone to Azkaban. Hoping someone else would find the truth was the safe way, but the much slower way. He'd promised himself he would only become a dog if he truly, truly had to. It was hard, being patient, but it was also important. If he became a dog, then it was only a matter of time before the Ministry found him and discovered his little secret. 

He heard movement down the hall, and sighed. Taking a few bites of the disgusting looking matter in his bowl, he shoved it back out through the bars, knowing the Dementors would soon be by his cell to collect what he hadn't eaten. The familiar feeling of cold was growing a bit more with each second; to prevent himself from becoming distressed he closed him eyes and repeated "I'm innocent, I'm innocent" inside his head. 

When he opened his eyes his bowl was gone, and the Dementor was walking past his cell, slowly, seeing as he had a small woman in tow. Sirius assumed it was someone going to the lesser crimes area, and was only slightly surprised to hear his name uttered in disbelief. "Sirius... Sirius Black?" 

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes; once in awhile a serial murderer passed by, wanting to know just how Sirius had pulled off that one fantastic curse, completing their work in one-one thousandth of the time. He never answered them. Just simply said, "Hello" and let them walk down the rest of the corridor on their merry way. On a rarer occasion, a petty criminal would gawk at him and whisper his name in awe that he would whip out his wand and do something to them as well. It wasn't as if he even had his wand anymore, anyway. 

He looked up, however, because he had the distinct feeling that he'd heard that voice somewhere before. Glancing in the direction of the woman, he was quite surprised to recognize her. She was older, yes, but age had not done her much harm. He blinked disbelievingly. 

"Madeleine?" 

---

"But you did see it, right? I mean, I'm not hallucinating?" 

"Yes, yes, of course we saw it. It looked like a Threstral, didn't it, Mr. Malfoy?" 

"I wouldn't know, ma'am. I never saw one when we learned about them in fifth year at Hogwarts. This is the first time I've ever laid eyes on it. But from the descriptions I've heard, that seems to fit it." He paused. "Yet Hagrid said his pack was tamed. Why would it attack?" 

McGonagall massaged her temple lightly; again she felt that she was just too old to be running around, solving mysteries about odd creatures with a pair of twenty-something year olds. "I have been able to see Thestrals for quite a few years. That didn't look as though it was part of the pack that Hagrid raised. I've certainly never known the gang around Hogwarts to advance upon any students." she screwed up her face in thought, "Perhaps it was a stray?" 

Hermione lifted an eyebrow sceptically. "A stray Threstral that just happened to wander around Hogwarts? I'd say that's pretty unlikely." 

Shrugging, McGonagall nodded. "I know, but what other way is there to explain it?" She spoke plainly, "I'm no expert on Threstral behaviour, however. It'd be best to go to Hagrid or consult a book in the library if you were looking for information about them." 

Though she'd opened her mouth to answer, Hermione was cut off by the distinct groan of someone waking up into immense pain. 

"Nggh." 

The world blurred before ebony eyes and the surroundings spiralled uncontrollably into a swirling vortex of confusion. Muffled words were being churned out from rapidly forming smudges on her eyes, but everything sounded like she'd been underwater much too long and her ears had popped. 

Stella blinked. 

Why, oh, why didn't she appreciate the ability to not see things in double vision when she had it? There seemed to be little men with steel boots having line dance practice on her brain [1] and a steady headache was forming at the back of her head, incessant in its dull throbbing. 

Suddenly, the weird brownish blur burst in an outcry, "Stella! You're awake!" 

A cringe spread itself out over her face. The strange sensation in her ears was gone, but now she was hyperaware to the sounds around her. 

"Pro-professor Granger..." Stella groaned. "C-Can I have a... glass of... water?" 

"Oh, of course, dear. How do you feel?" Hermione asked concernedly as Stella propped herself up against the mound of pillows behind her. She busied herself by fetching a glass of water from the spout at the end of the room. 

Closing her eyes in deep pain, Stella gave a frank answer, disregarding the fact that others may have been present in the room. "Like shit." 

Professor McGonagall gave her a disapproving look to which she was totally unaware, but pursed her lips and remained silent. 

"I'll go get you a Pain Relief potion, I'll be right back. Stay here a minute, won't you?" Placing a glass of water on the table beside her, Hermione moved across the room to the medicine cabinet. She threw open the doors, browsing over the labels before choosing the correct potion. Usually, she'd have asked Madame Pomfrey if she could use it, but the woman had not been there when they had arrived with poor Stella, a note left behind for those who came in saying that there was a particularly nasty accident of facial transfiguration that had to be dealt with in the patient's room. Quickly, she cast a critical eye over the potion she'd selected. It was a rather complex one to make, and the directions on it were written in Severus Snape's handwriting. 

"S'not like I can go anywhere, can I?" Groaning, Stella laid back against her pillow. The world was still swimming quite a bit; she felt as if she were on a boat that would not stop rocking, and it ached to move any part of her body. Shakily, she picked up the glass of water on her bedside table and took a sip. 

Hermione 'hmmph'ed and handed Stella a goblet containing a thick, green substance that smelt of spinach and something undeniably foul. She wrinkled her nose. "Do I even want to know what's in here?" 

"Well, probably not, considering you have to drink it. Professor Snape made it." 

Stella gave a more exaggerated moan of pain. "I hope that wasn't meant to be comforting." She grasped the goblet as steadily as she could and raised it to her lips only to draw it away, a look of disgust on her face. 

"Stella! I realize you're in pain, but this will help. You can attempt to be a little more considerate." Hermione exclaimed, hoping fervently that Draco wouldn't notice the comment Stella made about who she supposed was his favourite Professor. 

She didn't notice that Draco, however, was mildly amused and just silently watched the playful banter between Hermione and Stella. 

"What? Snape -- " 

"Professor Snape, Miss Black." Professor McGonagall automatically cut in. She was dutifully ignored. 

" -- hated my father! Hated, detested, resented, abhorred! Despised with the fiery passion of a thousand suns! [2]" 

"Very interesting monologue, Miss Black. Now, if you would care to drink the potion, we might be along on our way to do other more important things." Professor McGonagall said. 

"Sorry, Professor," as she paused, she gave a thoughtful sigh, "but, before you go, may I ask a question?" 

McGonagall gave a hefty sigh, then nodded slightly. "One question, and then you must promise to take your potion." 

Stella nodded, then gave a slight 'ouch'. Bringing a hand behind her neck to rub it, she looked very introspective for a moment, as if deciding exactly how to word her question. "What was it that attacked me, exactly?" 

"That, Miss Black, is what we're trying to confirm," replied the stern Transfigurations teacher, before turning on her heel and motioning for the other two to follow, "Now, drink your potion." 

"I'm going to stay behind and make sure that Stella's comfortable." Hermione stated, shaking her head slightly at McGonagall's beckoning. The elder shrugged, giving her a 'suit yourself' look, then proceeded out the door, followed by a silent Draco Malfoy. 

Stella had drunk her potion during this exchange, and now as she laid the glass down beside her, she realized it not only relieved her pain, but it made her incredibly tired as well. She blinked sleepily and leaned into her pillow. "So, I'm going to be okay, right? No lasting side effects?" 

Hermione paused, making her to word her reply very carefully, as to not give anything away. "If we're correct at identifying the animal, then there should be nothing to worry about." 

Even with her eyes practically closed, Stella managed one last statement. "I thought I was going to die before you got there." A big yawn, then, "Thanks for finding me." 

Patting the ebony head before standing, Hermione left the infirmary. 

---

"Ah, yes. Welcome back, Miss Black." Professor Flitwick smiled kindly atop his mountain of books as she entered the room shyly, a few minutes late for class. 

She returned his smile with one of her own, because replying. "I'm sorry if I'm tardy, Professor. Madame Pomfrey refused to let me out until just a few minutes ago, and even then -- " she was cut off by Flitwick. 

"It's quite alright, Miss Black. I've been informed of the situation. Please, take your seat." 

Stella nodded awkwardly and slid into the seat next to A.J. 

"As you know, for the past few days we've been studying cooling charms. Today, we've going to learn its opposite, the heating charm." Professor Flitwick's voice droned on, as Stella felt herself poked in the side with a wand. Turning toward the person who'd prodded her, she found a note lying in front of her. She smiled at A.J., who smiled back. She opened up the note, which read: 

_Welcome back, Stella! Are you feeling okay? I tried to visit you, but Pomfrey wouldn't let me. _

--A.J. 

She flipped the small piece of parchment over to its clean side before picking up her quill and scribbling a quick note back to her friend. 

_Yeah, I'm fine. There still trying to find what attacked me, though. I know you tried to visit -- I heard Madame Pomfrey yelling at you to get out. _

--Stella 

Pushing the note to her right, Stella laid down her quill and was about to look up, when she noticed that the class and its teacher were staring at her. "Stella?" Professor Flitwick said sternly, "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?" He motioned to the note that now lay in front of A.J. She shook her head; though the note said nothing bad, she still preferred not to have to read it in front of her peers. 

"_Accio_ note!" The charms teacher performed the summoning charm, and gave the note a quick once-over. He shook his head, before giving both A.J. and herself a detention. 

And that was only a prelude of what was to come. 

In Potions, her next class, she still hadn't completed her essay. Snape gave her a zero for the assignment. It made her so flustered that she knocked her cauldron full of the Hallucination Potion onto herself, and caused her to see flying ponies and rainbows until Snape fed her the antidote (which he took his sweet time about). 

She fell into a puddle of water in the hall, where the rain had come in from the open window and had yet to dry up. In Transfiguration, she accidentally transformed her cat into a jug of water, which possessed the cat's spirit. It tipped itself over onto her. On her way to lunch, she made a detour up to her room; she was in desperate need of some dry clothes. 

During lunch, A.J. bumped her arm while reaching across the table for the sandwiches, causing her to get soup in her lap. Frustrated, Stella went up to her dormitory once again, and changed quickly. 

She decided not to go to her afternoon classes. 

She'd snuggled into her bed to get a few extra hours of sleep, since she was still dealing with the after-effects of a mixture Madame Pomfrey had given her that morning, but unfortunately for Stella, the window had flown upon. A mixture of rain and snow had flown into her window, soaking her and making her quite cold. She shivered, and in vain searched to find something dry to change into. It was, however, useless. Everything in the room was soaked, and her roommates were sure to be furious. 

She sighed. Today had been a wet, wet day. 

---

* * *

[1] This was a quote from somewhere -- I'm positive of it, and yet I don't quite remember where it's from. 

[2] This was a twisted quote, from 'Underwater Light' by Maya, a popular, multi-chaptered slash H/D fic, which is wonderfully written and can be found on Schnoogle. 

* * *


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

_Elluxion_: Woot! Once more it's finally up! =D *starts flinging handfuls of chocolate dust bunnies in the air* I just thought I'd address a few reviewers' questions: 

Firstly, _Meg _-- thanks for the suggestion of a H/D dinner! I'll make Mari look into it and write something sinfully fluffy. Mwahahaha. =P

_tomatored_ -- Okay, caught and guilty. =P We figured out the timeline and yes, Michael's age is incorrect. He's Bill's son, BTW. ;) We'll edit it, and thanks for pointing it out! 

_tainted black_ -- I've heard of Phillip Pullman! I want to check his books out! Nope, it's not from His Dark Materials; it's from some fanfic I read a really, really long time ago... 

_Sila-chan_ -- yes, he just -looks- a bit older, he wasn't kept down, and even if he was he'd still be 'Mione's age. ;) 

_JoeBob1379 and RavynNyte _-- Michael is Bill's son. =) 

_To everyone else_ -- you lot are the best, thank you for the faithful reviews! *passes around more chocolate* 

And to _Nic_ for being the bestest friend. Ever. ;) And yep, that's about it before this gets longer than the fic. Enjoy! 

* * *

**Sweetest are the Stolen Kisses:**

**Chapter 4**

_"It's been awhile."_

_"Yeah, it has."_

_Sirius's hand gripped a bar and aided him in standing up.  His face in-between the vertical metal beams, he gave a wan smile.  "What are you in for, Maddie?"_

_The woman stood on the other side of his cell, his cage, her posture perfect and her face looking older than he last remembered.  Her brown hair was held up in a single ponytail, a few loose strands hanging limply.  She wore the simple garments of a prisoner, a grey jump suit.  Her arms being held firmly behind her, he could tell that the Dementor was pushing her toward the end of the hall, away from him.  She shrugged and mouthed 'later', motioning with her head the direction of her cell._

_He nodded.  He would see her later, definitely._

---

"Hermione."

A cinnamon coloured heard lifted toward the sound of name, and found her mentor, Professor McGonagall, standing in the doorway of her private quarters.  She was about to smile when she noticed the serious and displeased look on the elder teacher's face.  Something was not right.  "Minerva?"

"The damn Ministry," McGonagall swore, something she rarely ever did, "has already inquired into Stella's 'accident'.  And they're raising hell about it, too."

As the older woman paused, Hermione seized the opportunity to stand up and conjure a chair for her to sit in.  Offering it to her guest, she sat once again, turning her seat to face her friend.  "What's wrong?  Stella's okay."

"Well, you know ever since Sirius Black was cleared they've had a strange urge to make it up to Stella for everything they put him through.  And it appears Snape's daughter felt the need to enlighten half of the school about the whole incident.  Naturally, the Ministry is having a fit about the fact that they weren't informed immediately.  They have required that a Governor stay at Hogwarts to investigate the goings-on and make sure that there are no more dangers to the students."

"Don't they think that the teachers are quite capable of doing that?  It's not like we left Stella out there to die or anything."  Hermione herself felt a little offended.  The Thestral on the loose might have been hostile, yes, but they were able to handle it.  "Who have they sent, anyway?"

"Guess.  You'll go mad when you find out."  McGonagall answered, leaning back in her chair and massaging her temples.

"I don't know. Who?"

"Draco Malfoy," came the reply, sounding weary.  "A rookie!  Barely a Governor!  How is he any more capable of finding a wild Thestral then you or I?"

Taken aback, Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste.  "I no longer feel any ill feelings toward him—in fact, I don't feel much of anything, but he was just made a Governor."

"Exactly!" replied McGonagall, "They can afford to lose him for a bit.  Plus, he was already here, and Fudge has always been lazy about things like this." She sounded somewhat disgusted.  "I suppose it can't hurt to have him around, but honestly!  Wouldn't a Governor who knows the rules inside and out work the best?"

Hermione shook her head.  "I don't understand."

Her colleague nodded.  "Neither do I."

"Has he been informed?" inquired Hermione, who was still a bit shocked by this new development.

"I have no idea," came the honest reply.  Minerva sighed and shook her head listlessly, "Would you go tell him, please?  Just in case?  I'd do it myself, but I have a terrible headache."

Nodding good-naturedly, Hermione stood and moved toward her former teacher.  Patting the older arm before walking briskly to the door, she called over her shoulder, "Why don't you go to Poppy, then?  Her medicine always works wonders for me."

"Maybe I will, later." Was the statement that ended their conversation, as Minerva stood as well and left, closing Hermione's door behind her.

---

Moments later, Hermione stood outside Draco Malfoy's door, looking rather nervous.  It wasn't as if she feared Malfoy; she just didn't know him.  It felt quite unusual to be outside his door, let alone speak to him.  Taking a deep breath, she reached her hand up and knocked daintily on the door.

"Malfoy?  Are you in?"

Shuffling was heard within the room, and a curse word or two sounded, muffled by the wood of the door.  Suddenly it flung open, to reveal a mussed young man staring impatiently out into the hall.  "Granger?  What do you want?"

"I-I was wondering if you had heard the news." She stuttered, startled by his sudden approach.

His eyebrow lifted toward his hairline as he stared at her, perplexed.  "News?"

Sighing, Hermione looked away.  "The Ministry has requested that a Governor stay at Hogwarts to make sure that order is maintained, and that no more children are attacked.  You've been chosen for the job."

"Oh, have I?" he retorted, sounding rather upset.  "Well, I'm quite unhappy to hear this, as it interferes with many of my plans."  He moved out of the way, allowing Hermione access to the less-than-immaculate room.  She walked in cautiously, casting a disproving eye about.

"Plans?"

"Well, yes.  Becoming a Governor was means of being paid.  It's a job. I was planning on travelling." He sounded cross as he closed the door with a bit of force.

Removing an article of clothing from a green velvet chair (how typical, she thought) she perched herself upon it.  "Governors aren't allowed to travel—"

"—outside of England."

She looked up, surprised.  "So you've read the Governor's Code already?"

"Well, it is part of my job," was the plain, slightly sarcastic response.

"True." She paused, before adding, "But where were you planning on going, exactly?"

Moving away from his position at the door to the chair opposite Hermione's, he gave her an impertinent look.  "Is that really any of your business, Granger?"

Huffing in a strangely hurt way, Hermione turned away from him.  "Well, excuse me for acting like a decent human being and trying to make conversation!"

"Decent human being? Are you implying that I'm _not_ a decent human being?" Malfoy demanded, sounding affronted.

"Why, yes! I think you've got that just about right. Just because you weren't in the best of moods doesn't give you the right to take it out on me! That kind of behaviour is petty and unfit for anyone who's supposed to be a Governor!"

Malfoy suddenly looked stricken, silver-grey eyes wide and his face pale – well, paler than usual, anyway. Hermione thought the term was 'aristocratically fair'. _Well, I wouldn't have found him half-bad looking in school if he'd kept his damn mouth shut and those filthy comments to himself._

He sighed suddenly, his shoulders slumping, relieved of a tension she hadn't known was there until that slight movement. "Yes, you're right. I-I apologise for my behaviour. I've just been a little bit stressed this week. Of course, that's no excuse. You were saying something before…?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. It was rather out-of-character for Malfoy to apologise like that. Of course, he had to have matured, hadn't he? "Um, I said that Ministry wanted a Governor to remain at Hogwarts. And I think that's about it." She fiddled nervously with the ends of her sleeves (something she hadn't done for years), uncertain of what she should do next. It was quite an unfamiliar feeling, actually.

Suddenly, two white hands shot out and caught hers. "You shouldn't do that. The thread is fraying," Malfoy said, quietly. His usually silken-smooth voice was a little scratchy like he hadn't been getting enough sleep and his grasp was gentle. Strangely enough, this sent little zings of sensation up her arms.

_Static,_ she told herself. _Perfectly normal._ Hermione looked up to Malfoy's face, unaware when her gaze had turned to the ground. Which was when she had first taken notice of the dark shadows underneath his eyes. It gave him a sort of… romantic vulnerability, she supposed.

Not that she'd notice or anything. She was nothing if not observant; it was just another part of being Hermione Granger.

"Have you been getting enough sleep? You seem rather tired…"

His facial features registered slight shock, at first, and then he smiled hesitantly. And it was a little odd, but that tiny change in expression seemed to soften the hard edges of his cheekbones and his lips seemed fuller in comparison to when they were pulled into a scowl or a stubbornly blank line. "I'm… fine. Thank you for asking."

She could still feel his fingers on her hands, barely there but she was much too aware of them.

Then he abruptly released her fingers and she felt a pang. "Well, goodnight then, Granger. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," she replied, and was pleased to note that he had asked her a question instead of giving her an order. Then she turned and fled down the corridor to her own quarters to dream of gentle fingers ghosting over her wrists.

---

Sirius drew a horizontal line through the grit on his prison wall, slicing it through four other vertical scratches. The wall was covered with several hundred markings like these, the sign of a man dark with a nauseating mixture of resignation and destination and the smallest—stupidest, Sirius told himself, stupid—shred of hope. 

_Sirius Black's hair hung limply in his eyes, reminiscent of a time—a very long time ago, like the shadow of a shadow, the dream of a dream—when the same bangs used to do the same thing, with a sort of offhand charm that he knew girls found attractive. Yes, those were the days when he lounged about in school with Prongs, Moony, Padfoot and—oh yes, and that traitorous, simpering bastard Wormtail. He'd get his own back, one day. For Lily, for James, but most of all, for little Harry Potter, his godson._

_Transforming used to be so easy—Sirius had never fully appreciated how simply and fluidly he could change from human to creature, creature to human. Now you could half-hear the poorly oiled cogs in the Transfiguration as they tried to turn, as they tried to respond to his urging. Changing was awkward and stiff, and his senses were dulled, even for a dog._

_Sirius Black shook back his ears and slid easily through the prison bars, slinking down the hallway to search for Madeleine and his first human contact in a long, long time._

---__

"Are you certain you want to do this, Hermione?" McGonagall squinted uncertainly at her. Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Stella beat her to it. "Professor Granger, you really don't have to do this for me." Her eyes were imploringly earnest. Eyes, Hermione noticed with an unsettling lurch, which were almost eerily identical to her late father's, with a mischievous, restless light.

"Of course I'm going to do it," Hermione said firmly, glancing over at Draco who stood silently beside the window. It hadn't snowed for a few days, being too cold to do so, and beyond Draco, the clouds were frozen, hanging, pregnant with snowflakes and ice. Immobile. It would snow soon, and snow hard.

"I'm not sure if going into the Forest at night is the best thing, Hermione," Minerva said tactfully. "And alone—well, almost—you should go in a bigger group, perhaps I'll round up some of the other professors to accompany you—"

"I have this feeling that the Thestral won't turn up like that, Minerva," Hermione said softly.

"There's a fair chance that it's a predatory creature, a sole hunter, and if so the herd would not have accepted it… It would prefer to pick off its prey one by one, perhaps. A pair would present less threat than a group, and the darkness would provide perfect cover for its hunting. Hermione"—the word was stumbled over; the syllables tasted strange, almost coppery—"and I will capture the Thestral if we can and try to bring it back to the school grounds for Professor Hagrid and Grubbly-Plank to examine. I never knew a Thestral to be violent, and since Miss Black says she did not provoke it…"

Draco hadn't turned as he spoke, still looking fixedly out at the twisting trees of the Forest, painted in shadows by the sunset. He'd looked it up at the library with Hermione yesterday; indeed, they'd spent most of that day together, talking on and on about the Thestral. He hadn't wanted anyone to accompany him, much less Granger—Draco had a fair idea of how Dark creatures thought, and the Thestral certainly hadn't seemed inclined to stick around for tea—but he could see straight off that Hermione was a woman who cared deeply for her students. He could respect that, and if she was willing to face the risk…

Conversation had lightened, after that odd visit she'd paid him. And if it weren't for so many years of animosity, Draco thought wryly, and that streak of strongheaded, mulish stubbornness, he might have found her… _attractive_.

"I suppose that you've thought it out and there's probably no changing your mind." Minerva spoke dryly. "Are you going tonight?"

"Why wait?"

"All right. But do be—"

The door slammed open so hard it rebounded off the wall, and a Hufflepuff prefect hurtled in, pausing only to give the incongruous Draco a puzzled glance. "Professor Granger, Professor McGonagall! Another student's been attacked!"

---

"Michael Weasley, I _swear_ I'll disembowel you for this—" Hermione glared down at the shaken, but unhurt first-year, outwardly furious, inwardly feeling a rush of giddying relief.  "Bill's going to hear of it, oh yes, and Molly if I can help it—"

"Where did it go?" Draco interrupted quietly, and Hermione shot him a scowl.

They stood in the gathering twilight gloom, dipped in the long shadows cast by the dying sun. The red sparks that Michael had sent out glistened weakly in the evening sky like fireflies encased in ice, already dimming, about to extinguish altogether. Madam Pomfrey had a gripping hand on Michael's shoulder as if afraid he would run off again, her face lined with disapproval. Professor Sprout—who'd seen the alarm signal while in her greenhouse and had revived Michael—stood staring at the trees around them with a thoughtful expression on her face, one finger tapping musingly on her chin.

"I'm sorry, Herm—Professor Granger," Michael amended hastily at Draco's arched eyebrow. He gestured westward to show where his attacker had gone. "I didn't see anything—something just—sort of—swept past me and I raised the alarm before it threw me against that tree and I blacked out."

"It's almost as if something bit you, didn't like the taste and spat you out," Professor Sprout said ponderingly, her eyes still unfocused in thought, not noticing when Hermione winced at her analogy. "Now I wonder why?"

Draco glanced casually again at the red-haired, lanky first-year. Blue eyes, red hair, a spattering of freckles… he could've passed for Ron Weasley save for the longer sweep of hair and the lighter-coloured eyes. And there was also the fact that Draco had seen him before, somewhere… those eyes tickled an elusive memory. And there was also something about the way of Michael that reminded him of that girl—Stella, that was it. Almost in the self-assured, graceful way they held themselves. _What the hell is going on?_

"I'm sorry?" Professor Sprout squinted at him.

There was a heartbeat's span of a moment when Draco grasped that he'd spoken the last thought aloud. "Nothing, Professor, just talking to myself."

Hermione spoke up behind them, and her words had a strangely fearful tone to it. "That's what we'd all like to know, Malfoy." She was holding that book she always clutched to her aloft—the one without a title, just a pentagon embedded in the cover—and was staring at the first few pages with an odd look on her face. She riffled through the book, then flipped to the front again, a little frown line etching itself in the middle of her forehead.

"What is it, Granger?" There. That sounded better than _Hermione_. Draco strode over to Hermione and peered over her shoulder at the book, and blinked.

She was on the second page, by the look of things, and half-formed words littered the heavy parchment paper haphazardly. It looked as if a spider had fallen into an inkpot and then skittered all over the page. The words were almost rune-like, all jagged edges and sharp corners, and Draco could hardly make head or tail of them.

"They weren't here yesterday," Hermione explained slowly.

"It's English lettering," he replied simply. "Half-formed, half-written, the letters all mixed up. Did you do anything yesterday that might have triggered the words?"

For some reason a slight pink dusted her cheeks. "No."

"Why don't you puzzle over the book later, Hermione? You'd better shrink it and go after the wild Thestral or it'll escape. I think I'll come with you." Sprout squared her shoulders and drew her wand.

"No, Professor, it's better if you didn't," Hermione said firmly. "Poppy, will you bring Michael back into the infirmary, please, and make sure he writes to his family?"

"_Hermione_!" Michael said, aghast.

"Either you do it or I shall," warned Hermione sternly. Draco noticed that she was wearing the same robes she did yesterday, the one with the frayed sleeves, and resisted the urge to repair them. _You'd think that she'd want everything in place._

"Be careful, you two," Pomfrey said almost lightly, but the words were ominous.

Hermione shrunk the tome and tucked it into her pocket. Draco lit his wand and she followed, watching as Pomfrey and Sprout began to push through the shrubbery towards the castle. The sun sank tiredly below the horizon as they turned and began to make their way into the Forest westward, using the Thestral's path of flattened flora and fauna as their figurative trail of breadcrumbs.

Remembering the last time a pair had attempted to follow scattered breadcrumbs, Draco tried his best to suppress an anticipative chill, but didn't quite succeed. 

* * *

**A/N: **Um, so yes. Sorry about the long wait (this is G, by the way). Aria and I had exams and Mari was also quite busy. And when exams were over, we spotted some plot holes, which were in dire need of fixing, which we _still_ haven't done. Yes, yes, we procrastinate way too much. So, just wanted to apologise for the wait, as said before. And as per usual, direct any comments to 'ateyourhamster@hotmail.com', or drop us a review.

Any feedback is very much appreciated.


	6. Chapter 5

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**A/N:** Another relatively late chapter, which was mostly my and my muses' faults. We're all horribly and unfairly busy with school. *nods* Hugest apologies, and we all hope that you'll like this one. ^^ Not very long, ends with a cliffy, and we'd all appreciate and love reviews/critiques and threats of, y'know, "continue or there will be a very messy accident involving a sledgehammer" and whatnot. =D Hugs, and enjoy. --Aria 

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter doesn't belong to us, because if it did, Draco and Hermione would long have gotten together before now. 

HAPPY 2004! *throws confetti* 

* * *

**Sweetest Are The Stolen Kisses  
Chapter Five**

"Malfoy? Malfoy, where did you go? " Hermione's hurried whisper echoed eerily in the Forbidden Forest, where it seemed the only other sounds were her scattered breathing and wary footsteps. "Malfoy, if you don't answer me I swear I'll -- " 

However, her threat was doomed to be forever unfinished, as her foot caught in a cleverly hidden root, causing her to fall forward. A cry of surprise escaped her throat, but was stopped short as she noticed the ground had stopped rushing toward her. Two arms were holding her, she realized, ending her descent. Turning her head, she was arrested with the sight of Draco Malfoy looking at her with an amused smirk on his face. 

"Nice one, Granger," he taunted, righting her as he spoke. 

Ripping herself away from the embrace -- he was much too close to her, of course -- and turning away haughtily, she huffed accusatorily, "I wouldn't have tripped if you hadn't wandered off!" Picking up her wand, which she'd dropped in her fall, and whispering a quick "_lumos!_" she kept on. "Come on, we have to find that Thestral." 

Nodding in agreement, Draco matched her stride and walked next to her. Silence reigned for a few uncomfortable minutes, in which both parties pretended to be excruciatingly busy looking for the Thestral. Finally, he spoke softly, "You're welcome." Caught off guard, she paused and replied, "What?" 

"Didn't your parents ever teach you any manners, Granger? It's only polite to say 'thank you' to someone who saved you from falling flat on your face." 

Miffed, she didn't say anything right away. He'd hurt her pride, he could see quite plainly; while she was grateful, she was creature of dignity and wasn't comfortable thanking someone she hadn't seen in so many years. It didn't help that the two of them hadn't exactly been the best of friends the last time they had met. After a moment, she grudgingly said, "Thank you, Malfoy." 

"See, was that so hard?" 

She glared. "Yes." 

Giving a small smile of amusement, he resumed glancing about for the creature, and Hermione took his lead. A movement in the bushes behind them betrayed the presence of another living being. Both young adults whipped around, wands out at the ready. 

"It's too small to be the Thestral, if it can fit in a bush," Hermione stated, still not removing her eyes from the bushes. The shrubbery was swaying horribly. She almost wished whatever-it-was would lunge out and attack them; the waiting was nail-bitingly unnerving. 

"That doesn't mean it's not dangerous," answered Draco, taking a few wary steps backward. Hermione did the same, assuming that they would just make a break for it, seeing as it could be dangerous and it was only disrupting their true mission. 

"Turn and run on three, okay?" Draco said in a low whisper, never stopping his backward paces, "One . . ." 

"Two . . ." 

"_Three!_" 

Both turned, preparing to flee. However, they never did get around to the actual fleeing, as they had come face-to-face with a giant, and very angry, Thestral. 

"Draco . . . " Hermione's eyes were large, and she couldn't tear them away from the beast before front of her. It was suddenly very easy to remember just how humongous the creature was when it stood, head tossing, flanks heaving in front of you. In the newly birthed night its muscles rippled healthily, sheathed by black skin. One thing for sure, it had been feeding well. Her stomach lurched. Under the circumstances she didn't want to think about what it fed on. 

"Shh, shh . . . don't talk." 

Their wands were in front of them, but neither of them could even think of using them. They were too shocked; it appeared the Thestral had been very intent on finding them as well. They were the perfect epitome of hunters being hunted. It snorted and steam billowed from its nostrils, as the witch and wizard stood, dumbfounded. 

Finally gathering a hint of her usual wits, Hermione bellowed "_STUPEFY!_" at the top of her lungs, and watched as the spell left the horse-like creature almost completely unaffected. It seemed to pause in its breathing for a moment, but then the spell wore off and once again it was glaring at them mightily, visibly more agitated than before. 

It took one step forward. 

Draco broke his own rule and choked out, ". . . we're in trouble." 

Another step. Both of them began to move backwards slowly, racking their brains for a powerful enchantment that might be the key to the creature's undoing. Nothing came to mind; it was the worse possible moment to panic. The sheer size of the Thestral was terrifying; the simple power it emanated, the dead, blank eyes intent on them both. Hermione cast a glance at Malfoy, whose face was focused steadily on the horse-like nightmare. She opened her mouth, preparing to tell him that they should make a break for it while they could, yet in her inattention, her foot found another root, and for the second time that night, she tripped. 

Turning painfully in the air and landing on her stomach, Hermione groaned and sat up as best she could. Her ankle was already beginning to throb, and she had just fallen! Using an arm to keep her upright, she clutched her ankle. Tears welled up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. "Draco!" she cried out, letting go of her injured ankle and reaching out blindly. 

A hand grasped her outstretched, fumbling one and a compassionate face entered her view. "Hermione! Are you okay?" 

She never heard his question, however. Instead she screamed out "Draco -- watch out! The Thestral is coming!" 

Never letting go of her hand, Draco whipped around, wand out and at the ready. The Thestral was coming toward them, not particularly fast but still menacing, gaining speed and momentum with every hoofbeat. Disregarding her previous attempt, Draco cried out a strong "_STUPEFY_!" 

The spell shot like a Muggle bullet out of his wand, hitting the Thestral straight on. It paused, motionless for an agonizing moment, and Hermione feared it would start after them once again. It jerked and struggled suddenly as the yellow jet of light engulfed it further, wrapping it in deadly embrace, but with a ringing neigh it fell, stupefied as the spell suggested. The heavy mass of muscle impacting on the ground sent tremors quivering through the undergrowth and to where Hermione lay. 

Glancing up at her counterpart, she knew she looked mystified, and not without cause. "How did you do that?" 

He was staring at his wand, a similar stunned expression on his own visage. "I have absolutely no idea." Shaking his head as if it clear it, he brought his eyes down to her, "Are you able to walk?" He asked, noticing she was now slowly rubbing the much-abused ankle. 

"I don't think so . . ." she admitted, looking quite ashamed. "It might be easier just to levitate me. We have to get to the school fast and tell Dumbledore about the Thestral right away." Casting an uneasy glance at the Thestral, Hermione continued, "While it was a brilliant spell, I'm not sure it will last long on a beast as strong as that one." 

Nodding and softly whispering the spell she'd requested, they headed back toward the school, each mulling over the events that had just happened. 

--- 

". . . and then Draco" -- he could tell she was beginning to get used to his name -- "sent a Stunner at it and for some reason it fell over. It was not as if his Stunner would have been stronger than mine . . ." 

"Odd," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Very, very odd." 

They were in the Headmaster's office ("Hershey's Cookies and Cream!") with a very anxious Minerva McGonagall hovering at Hermione's shoulder almost as if she were worried a Thestral would spring out of midair and attack her again. Draco shook his head wryly; what a pair those two made. Pomfrey had healed Hermione's ankle in a trice, and they sat at chintz armchairs before Dumbledore's fireplace. 

"Yes, odd, but what does it mean?" Draco pressed. "The Forbidden Forest has always been dangerous, but the school has never been openly attacked before." 

"I'm worried," Hermione said softly, "that the Thestral might decide to move beyond the fringes of the forest and enter the more popular grounds." She had drawn her knees up to her chin and had encircled her arms around her legs, rocking back and forth. Draco noticed the way the firelight toasted her dark curls into an almost-auburn shade. 

"Yes, that thought has crossed my mind." Dumbledore's blue eyes were still sharp, though, fastening on Draco. "Are you very sure that you were doing nothing unusual at the time? You weren't touching anything, thinking about anything?" 

"Nothing, sir." Draco leaned back onto the cushions, drumming his fingers against the chair as was his habit when thinking. Hermione was chewing her fingernails; really, it was as bad as her picking at her sleeves, he thought distractedly. "I suppose it was the effect of a couple of Stunners all at once, or something like that. And I suppose the students can't be guinea pigs when the Thestral shows itself another time, could they?" 

"I don't want to know," Hermione replied wearily. "Pass me that coffee, Draco." 

Their fingers brushed just as he leaned over to pass her the cup of steaming coffee from the table next to his armchair. There was a thud and a crash as Hermione leapt out of her seat, knocking the armchair over, crying out; the pocket of her robes was afire, flames laughing garishly as they cavorted on her robes. No one seemed to particularly care that the coffee cup lay in shards on the carpet. 

There was pandemonium in the room for a few heartbeats, yells of surprise and leaping up from chairs, before Draco regained his head somewhat and yanked Hermione's robes off her; she was wearing a red, thickly warm red cotton dress underneath that had thankfully not caught the flames. He flung the robes into the middle of the room and hauled Hermione back a few steps. 

"Stay where you are!" Dumbledore ordered, sending a jet of water at the fire. "_Don't move!_" Strangely enough it didn't seem to spread at all, remaining only on the pocket of Hermione's robes. Draco watched mutely, grasping Hermione's wrist loosely, an awkward tableau as Dumbledore sent a second jet of water at the flames together with McGonagall. A third splay of water and the fire gave up with only a wisp of smoke to mark its presence. 

"What the hell just happened?" Hermione gasped. 

"What did you keep in there, Hermione?" 

"Oh, Merlin, my book!" Dumbledore bent to the charred robes and sifted through the ashes. McGonagall had frozen, as well, but watched intently as he held aloft the shrunken pentagon-carved book Hermione had been puzzling over. "This book, Hermione?" 

"Yes, that." 

"It's not burned," Draco said sharply. "It doesn't seem touched by the flames at all." 

Dumbledore flipped the pages, and his brow creased. His blue eyes were lost in thought as he spoke. "Hermione, was there anything in this book besides the poem? You told me in passing that the book was completely blank except for the puzzle." 

"There was nothing, Albus," Hermione said a bit waveringly. She hadn't stirred. 

"Well, come and take a look." Dumbledore held the book out and Hermione walked over to peer over his shoulder. Draco leaned over the other side and McGonagall was trying to see the pages over both of them. It occurred to him how ludicrous they looked, but all thoughts of that disappeared as he stared at the heavy parchment paper. 

In the forest, incomplete inklings had seemingly bled through cracks in the paper; now, they were fully formed. Draco's breath caught as he skimmed through the page. _This is it! Hermione held the answer all along!_

"Do you know what language this is?" 

"What?" Hermione's eyes met Draco's slowly, over Dumbledore's head. "What do you mean, what language this is? It's in perfect English." 

Outside, it began to snow. 

--- 

_It wasn't hard to get through the bars into Madeleine's cage. Sirius slid through and transformed back into human. It had been harder and harder to hold on to the human part in his brain whenever he was in dog form. It worried him, gnawing with a relentless tooth. If he continued like this, mentally and physically starved… One day he would lose all humanity. One day he would be taken over by wildness and savageness, with the need only to live, and to hunt. Sirius shuddered at the thought. _

Yet now was not the time for thoughts such as those, not when Madeleine was so near. He walked a few steps forward, casting a wary eye about the dirty cell. Where was she? A movement from the corner of the room caught his attention and he turned toward it in instinct. In the shadows, a feminine form moved, watching him watching her. It would have been awkward, had the two been so intent on ignoring the tension in the air. 

"Sirius. What a pleasant surprise. Please excuse the mess, I didn't see the need to clean for guests." 

"Haven't changed, have you Maddie?" 

"No, I don't think I have. Have you?" she moved into the dim light now, a small smile on her face. Truly, she was glad to see a familiar face. Perhaps this would result in some form of reconciliation between the two of them? 

"If I have, it was for the worse." He spoke suspiciously; she probably believed what they said about him, he thought. He longed for her contact, but what not talk to someone who believed him capable of murdering his best friend. 

She raised an eyebrow. It appeared, to her, that her old flame was being quite defensive. She smiled. "There's no need to act as though I'm going to bite you, Sirius. I know you didn't kill Lily and James." 

"You do? How can you know?" Did she have any evidence, he thought hopefully. Could she help him shorten his stay? 

She shrugged, dashing his hopes. "I just do." 

* * *

**Aria's A/N:** Now review! *prods with her scythe* =D

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	7. Chapter 6

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A/N: We love you guys, really we do. And we're sorry for the half-year lapse and I swear on my D/Hr honor that it'll never happen again. School, life, and various writing blocks have been extremely cruel to us, but that's no excuse, of course. hangs head You may blame me because I took a very very long time with this chapter and such. But on a brighter note! We promise you fluff, here! beams proudly at Mari Yes, our resident (and unwilling) Queen of Fluffiness has beautifully weaved in a teensy smattering of fluffishness that I enjoyed and I'm sure you will. We also finally give the ol' plot a kick... and the charrie-development and stuff.

So... read, review, off you go! And the next one might take a long time, as well, 'cause we have to try to remember what happened next. Blegh. --Aria

**Disclaimer:** Draco, Hermione, and various other characters belong to the fabulous Miss JK Rowling, because if they DID belong to us we'd have them locked in a closet and let them work out all the tension. Hah.

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**Sweetest Are The Stolen Kisses  
Chapter Six**

_Madeleine sat down primly on the lone bed and patted the dingy mattress next to her. Her hands, Sirius noticed, were still perfectly manicured—pale and smooth, with those pianist's fingers, long, deft. Very deft._

__

_Sirius smiled bitterly and sat down next to her. "At least one person knows that I didn't do it."_

__

_"I'm not the only one, Sirius," Madeleine said gently. _

__

_"Of course." _

__

_There was silence in the air—not the awkward, jeering silence of a group when someone had said something wrong; nor was it the heavy silence of two people who had just met and were wondering what to talk about. It wasn't the shy, playful quietness of a girl and a boy on their first date and him just taking her hand for the first time; neither was it the hush of a concert hall as the final note lingered in the air. There were many kinds of silences, Sirius reflected, and this was one of those rare silences of—of everything: grief, and pity, and everything that couldn't be put into words. There was a hanging, breathless moment as he stared at her, and she back at him._

_They'd shared a few dates, a few kisses, had a tryst in their sixth year, dated briefly when in adulthood. It had never worked out—she was too much of a friend. But he loved her as he would love a sister, and the utter despair on her face—for him, for herself, for the unfairness and the gray areas of the world—hammered at his heart. He brushed away that familiar fleck of hair that hung down over one eye. True to form, it swung right back. _

_"Sirius—" she began, grasping for his hand. _

_He silenced her easily, head bending towards hers. She sought him even as he reached for her, wanting nothing, nothing at all at the moment but her touch. He could feel the tears fresh on her cheeks even as she pulled him lightly down over her, and he wept, too, though it was on the inside. It was her touch that broke him. A touch without malicious intent; a touch that did not hurt and shatter bone and spirit. A touch of simple humanity. _

_---_

_Madeleine's stay in Azkaban was not long. It turned out that false accusations had been made against her, untrue splashes of black jealousy to condemn her as a Dark witch. Once her name was cleared, six months after she set foot into Azkaban and chanced upon a meeting with Sirius Black, she was released. _

_After that night where they lay together, Sirius transformed back into dog form and returned to his prison, where he remained trapped in his Animagus form for a handful of days before he was able to break free and return to human form. The Dementors suspected foul play and tightened security on his cell. As a result that was the last time Sirius ever saw Madeleine again. He was increasingly pulled into an irresistible vortex of darkness after the ordeal of being a wild dog for unending, agonizing days. The little piping voice of hope that had helped sustain him was silenced at last, and he had nothing but revenge to survive on. He rarely thought of Madeleine, if at all, and did not notice Madeleine's frantic attempts to get his attention as she was led past his cell to freedom._

_Sirius Black never knew that Madeleine Flatcher carried his children._

_---_

_There is but one way to defeat that which is already dead. Skin must meet skin, flesh must meet flesh, and only will black and white prevail, using magic that wards off perilous, freezing fear, in a time of birth where moon and sun clash, in a place where fire and water entwine amidst turquoise and morning mist. Fate will play her song and accede to an encore._

Draco tapped the page, triumph lightening steel eyes. "_Using magic that wards off fear—Expecto Patronum_—we never thought of that! _A time of birth where moon and sun clash_—moonset, sunrise, at the same time, and the snow—fresh snow, birthed by the sky. _A place where fire and water entwine; fate will play her song_—it all depends on chance, Hermione, chance. It can only be killed in a certain time frame, a certain place. _And accede to an encore_—we can only do it at a second try! Do you get it?"

"What I don't get is how this fits so neatly into place." Hermione frowned and straightened. "What are the odds that I'll find this just before the Thestral's attacks? What are the odds that this puzzle manifests itself _just minutes before the only chance we'll get to kill the Thestral_?" she said vehemently, twitching the curtain aside. There were tinges of crimson already on the horizon, wrapping the newly falling snow in feathered fire.

"It makes me wonder," Dumbledore said softly, "why this appeared at all."

Hermione shook her head in frustration and disgust as Dumbledore handed the book to her. She read through the passage again, written in a heavily curling hand, and she read through it a third time distractedly, half an ear on Dumbledore's voice. "It makes me wonder why only you and Draco can read the words, Hermione. I assume you can't read this either, Minerva?"

McGonagall shook her head. "No."

"It appears as English to you, and appears as foreign symbols to Minerva and myself. Why did it appear in the first place? Who wrote this book? Who put such a complex charm on it? Why was it put into the library, so perfectly timed for Hermione to pick it up, for Draco to be accepted as a Governor? Why did it burn, threatening Hermione while helping her? Why does it choose to reveal its cryptic answer only now? What did you and Draco do to trigger this?"

Hermione jerked at the last, looking up with a start. Draco had swung around to look sharply at the Headmaster. "I can accept that I'm trapped in this mess somehow, but why do you say that Draco is involved?"

"The timing is too coincidental to be anything else," Dumbledore replied grimly, blue eyes weighing them both. "Read the instructions out to me again, Hermione."

She obliged, and Dumbledore copied down every word in a scrap piece of parchment, phoenix quill scratching on the paper. He was sitting behind his table now, and they had resumed their seats. Hermione left her robes on the floor with a tossed glance and a shudder. True, they were unmarked and wearable, but it unsettled her.

Dumbledore tapped the quill on the parchment. "_Skin must meet skin, flesh must meet flesh_. What does that mean? _Amidst turquoise and morning mist._ What about that? There's something deeper to this than what it seems to be on the surface. Magic is a strange thing, but it is rarely so well-timed."

"Drivel," Draco said dismissively, "simple poetic tosh to make the whole thing look better."

"Do you think so, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore leaned forward on steepled fingers. "Do you think so?"

"I hate it," McGonagall said suddenly, seizing Hermione's shoulder in an uncharacteristic gesture of protectiveness. "I _hate_ the whole bloody thing! It reeks of the Dark Arts. It reeks of everything wrong! I'd burn the thing if I had a chance, if it weren't our only answer to the Thestral!"

"Minerva, calm yourself—"

"I can't stand the damn thing!"

"It is not wholly pure," Dumbledore said quietly. "Minerva's instincts are rarely wrong."

Hermione wished her hand didn't tremble as she closed the book and shrunk it. The entire night was topsy-turvy. Rarely had she seen Minerva display such outward distress; and the whole thing just frightened her to no end. But if Draco was right, they only had half an hour before the sun began to paint the world again. And if it were their only chance, there was no time to lose.

"Well," she said, stooping to pull her wand gingerly out of her robes, "let's go. Looks to me like we're being maneuvered around some game like plastic pieces, and unfortunately I'm more used to maneuvering. The dice are cast. What are we waiting for? We might as well toss out our final cards and pray madly that they'll bring us through this."

She whisked out. Draco followed without more prompting. The Transfiguration professor and the Headmaster's cries of caution dogged their heels, but she had already accio-ed a new set of robes to her and was shouldering them on as they swept down the staircase.

"The dice are cast," Draco echoed with a trace of that old, ironic smirk. Hermione glanced at him and nearly laughed. He was the only man she'd ever met who looked good smirking. "And I've always liked to gamble."

---

"What time is it?" Hermione whispered as she trod carefully around a fallen branch. She was quite sick of tripping, and though her ankle had been healed it was still rather weak. Throwing a glance awkwardly over her shoulder, she tried to catch a glimpse of the watch on Draco's wrist.

"It's about five forty, the sun should be rising in a few moments," he murmured back, eyes turned upward. The forest's canopy was thick and he hoped his guess was correct. He shuddered to think of the consequences of their actions if they were just the slightest bit off on the timing. Of course, he'd done some calculations as to when the sun would rise before he left, but those could have easily been off by a minute or two. According to his watch, they had thirteen minutes until sunrise.

The two tiptoed in silence, their fear of being found just as potent as their fear of finding the dread Thestral. The forest seemed to be alive; all around them there was the creak of the old, gnarled bark of the trees and the constant strange noises of animals they weren't quite familiar with. A branch cracked and caused Hermione to jump and turn, her wand pointed out in front of her.

"I hope we find this thing soon," she said quietly, her eyes shifting from side to side, "because I don't think I can take much more of this."

"Nonsense," he answered, "you've done this a million times. What about all the adventures you got up to in school?" He smirked at her, and Hermione was particularly struck by how he looked under the cold light of the moon. He seemed—she chewed her lip in an effort to recall the word she was looking for… world-weary, she supposed that was what she meant. He seemed so tired, so knowing of the world at so young an age.

And sad, she amended.

Though curious, Hermione didn't allow herself to dwell on Draco's current condition. It was none of her business, after all; the two barely knew each other, and the fact that they were employed by the same people didn't exactly make them friends. She shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts, and instead concentrated on watching her step and trying to figure out the lines of the poem in her head.

_Amidst turquoise and morning mist... _she thought to herself; what is turquoise? Jewelry, but you couldn't well fight on a pile of jewelry, could you? Eyes, they could be turquoise, she supposed, if they had those Muggle contacts that changed colors, but again, it was inconceivable. The berries on the bushes? Flowers? What, what, what?

"I think we're getting closer to the lake." Draco's voice interrupted her thoughts, and for a moment she felt the urge to turn and berate him for making her lose her train of that. Then she mulled over what he'd said in her mind. _ I think we're getting closer to the lake… getting closer… to the lake… the lake…_

The lake!

"The lake!" she cried, turning and grabbing his arm. "It's turquoise!" At his befuddled look, she sighed. _"Amidst turquoise…"_

_"…and morning mist!"_ he finished, beaming at her. "Well done, Hermione!" he paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers, "That's it! In a time of birth when moon and sun clash…don't you see? I had to figure out the precise movements of the sun and the moon to calculate the break of dawn…they'll both be over the lake at the same time!"

"Their reflections…" she murmured, beginning to feel an old mischievous excitement enter her bones. "Of course… it's all coming together, this riddle. It's starting to make sense." She smiled and felt a part of her surge when he returned it.

"That was an excellent idea, with the lake. It should be to the right. Quickly, let's head over there. We only have about," he cast his eyes down toward his watch, a new urgency creeping into his step, "seven minutes."

Each of them quickened their pace dramatically, tripping over small roots but refusing to yield to their stumbles and picking themselves up. The lake looked serene and calm, once they reached it. Thoroughly checking their surroundings, the pair found a small cluster of bushes and masked themselves in them to wait for the huge beast to make its appearance.

A few moments elapsed, and Draco noiselessly thrust his watch in front of her face to show her that they had exactly three minutes until the sunrise. Squinting, Hermione glanced at their surroundings anxiously. The Thestral could be anywhere, she mused, her eyes focusing on a point across the lake where she thought she'd seen some movement. Catching Draco's attention she silently motioned to the bushes; he, too, noticed the rustling and nodded excitedly.

"Wait here," he whispered, darting away before she could answer. He went stealthily through the forest; even her keen eyes could not detect his movements. She was suddenly filled with an anxiousness she could not describe. We missed a line in the poem, she thought to herself, what did it say? Her intuition was telling her that it was terribly important…what was it, what was it?

Suddenly, the giant beast emerged. It was large and ugly, but in the same way it moved with a grace she would not have expected from a monster that size. One half of her mind was running through the poem, searching for the elusive line, the other was keeping a sharp eye out for Draco. She didn't like that he'd left her; it was almost insulting. She was just as capable as he. For a moment, she thought that perhaps she should stay, but her pride bested her and she began to follow in her partner's footsteps.

There was no sign of him anywhere in the woods, no broken twigs or footprints. She was torn between watching her step and staring at the Thestral in anticipation. The sun was rising, it's reflection on the lake… right next to the moon!

Now, do it now, she told herself, and began to move out of the forest, only she was too late.

Draco had made himself apparent, his wand pointing directly at the Thestral's head, fruitless "stupefys" flying at its body. He looked desperate; her heart lurched as it began to look as if it would attack. Without thinking, she launched herself forward, running with all of her might, hand clutching her wand in a death grip. Both the beast and Draco turned at her entrance, distracted momentarily. Her body collided with his, sending them both tumbling into the water. The two of them sat in the shallow water, stunned momentarily, Draco recovering his wits first. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" he cried, but she was already grasping his hand and using it as a support to stand.

Then, as if in a trance, Draco's eyes widened. Hermione only had a glimpse as she was staring intently at the creature who looked quite intent on maiming them terribly. Her glance at him left her bewildered. If there was ever a time to develop a stupid, girlish crush, she berated herself, it was definitely not now! She didn't have time to think about it long, however, because Draco had grabbed her and pulled her to his chest, wrapping an arm protectively around her.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" he screamed, hugging her closer. She dug her face into his chest, thrown into a mixture of befuddlement, horror, absolute terror, and somewhere deep inside her, a small seed of hope. There was a blast of light and she and Draco were thrown back into the water again, causing a large splash. For a moment, she opened her eyes up underwater and had the urge to scream. Yet her logical side took over, and she brought her head up, immediately looking for the Thestral. Something caught her arm; Draco pulled himself up, the two of them staring at the great monster, who was currently being beaten back by the form of Draco's Patronus. Everything was moving so fast, so quickly, she could not register the form of his Patronus, but a blur of white light here, a flick of a glowing tail there. Everything in heartbeats.

The Patronus sliced through the Thestral, causing it to stumble back. It blinked once stupidly, then fell. She braced herself for a tremble, but right before it hit the ground, the Thestral completely disappeared into thin air. She uttered a small laugh, seeing it gone, but then Draco was hugging her again and all she could think was that she couldn't be how easily she'd been won over…

* * *


	8. A Note From Mari

Hi guys, this is Mari.

So, G, Aria, and I started this fiction a long time ago. And man, we worked so hard on it. But unfortunately, due to a large workload, G was forced to pull out. And I haven't heard from Aria in months. Quite frankly, I don't know if this story will ever be finished. I've got a project of my own that I'm working on (shameless plug—"Barely There" by Marionette…read it!) and it would just feel wrong to even attempt to finish it by myself. I'm holding on to the hope that Aria will return the email I sent her a few days ago, but…

I'm sorry. I really, really am. I hope that this story will be finished, sincerely. The plot is so big, half the time I can't even comprehend it, and we've had so many discussions over it, and…well, yeah. I don't want to see that go to waste. Time will tell, I suppose.

I have a little over a quarter of the next chapter finished. If there is any demand to see it, I will try to pull something out, but it was Aria's turn, so I have no idea where she planned to go with it.

Cross your fingers that this turns out okay.

--Mari


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